


beneath the sun

by freidynne



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Idiots in Love, Naked Cuddling, Post-Canon, Wedding Fluff, lots of explicit handholding, some introspections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freidynne/pseuds/freidynne
Summary: Amidst the fireworks and festivities of their long-awaited union, Dimitri and Byleth discover that married life is not what they thought it would be.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 112





	beneath the sun

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a year since I impulsively got a switch to play fe3h after seeing photos of Dimitri on my timeline pre-release. No regrets. Here’s my (late) anniversary offering. :)

Dimitri finds her in the Goddess Tower, eyes on the horizon. It's early, still very early. The sky paints a soft indigo expanse above them. The morning air sends goosebumps all over his skin.

“Your Majesty,” she greets him with a smile, mesmerizing and beautiful and bright.

“Your Grace,” he responds, admiring the soft quirk of her lips and the way the light catches on the seafoam of her hair. Nowadays, she smiles more frequently than their time in the academy and more freely than when they fought in the war, but he still finds himself entranced whenever she does.

Byleth’s hand automatically finds his as he steps beside her. “I trust your journey went well?”

“I may or may not have arrived earlier than the rest of the entourage,” he admits, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “I ran here as soon as Cyril said you were not in your quarters.”

“Perceptive as always,” she teases, booping his nose, and beams when he rewards her with an embarrassed blush. “Excited to see me?”

“I always am. You’re up early as well.”

“I suppose I’m excited too,” she confesses, brushing the stray strands of hair from his face. “And nervous and restless and...”

“I-I understand if you want to call it off,” he suggests, worry blooming in his chest. It took them quite some time to finally indulge and make plans for their union, with post-war responsibilities taking priority over everything else and Faerghan formalities making the preparations too arduous even to his own liking, yet Dimitri waited for her for nearly ten years, surely he can wait longer.

“Silly.” She quickly dispels his apprehension with another boop, but this time she tiptoes and uses her nose and he has to lean down to meet her. They laugh at their own antics.

“I’m just afraid you’d hit your head on the way here and change your mind.”

“Never,” he answers without hesitation, ashamed of doubting her even for a second. He traces the ring on her finger, suddenly conscious of the weight of the band on his own. Before him, the dawn breaks. Beside him, she stands tall, commanding and comforting as she has always been. The monastery bell chimes six times. The first rays of sunshine peek from behind the clouds.

They had seen many sunrises together. From a corner of his mind he remembers: him and her walking side by side to Garreg Mach for the first time, him and her chasing daybreak as if they could take on the world on their own, him and her promising themselves to each other, smiles wide and hearts full of joy.

“No need to worry, my king,” Byleth speaks, mimicking his gesture and kissing the silver ring that she herself slipped on his finger many moons ago. “When all of this is over, we will have all the time in the world.”

Below them, the cathedral stirs to life as church keepers start to prepare for the day.

“Yes, we will.” Dimitri nods and squeezes her hand, reluctant to let go. Still, he bows before her, a picture of politeness and formality.

“I will be seeing you later, Your Grace.”

“Until then, Your Majesty.”

  
The ceremony went by in a quiet blur, yet Dimitri swears he can pinpoint the exact moment when Alois and Flayn bursted into tears, can describe in detail how Dedue and Felix and Ingrid and Sylvain and the rest of their friends flanked them with warm hugs and well wishes. 

At their request, attendance was kept to a minimum, with only their closest allies and a handful of nobles allowed to witness their matrimony. However, as simple as they wished their wedding to be, the royal court and the central order still went out of their way to ensure that the cathedral was fully renovated and decorated, even transforming the modest reception hall into a luxurious space brimming with food and wine.

Seteth presided over the whole affair, formal and stern and solemn as ever, but even his mouth quivered and his eyes watered when he pronounced the King of Fódlan and the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros as husband and wife.

Byleth has never looked more radiant and Dimitri has never felt happier. Even now, away from the celebratory feast and in front of her parents’ resting place, their smiles remain.

“Father asked about you on occasion,” Byleth (the archbishop, his queen, his beloved, his wife, his wife, _his wife!_ ) reveals. She hikes her wedding dress up to her knees and plops down on the ground, plucks a flower from her headdress and lays it on the grave.

“Oh? Did he notice how troublesome I was?”

“On the contrary. He thought I gave you too much trouble. Said I should train the others just as much.”

Dimitri sits beside her, unmindful of the dust and dew that might stain his clothes. He did not know Jeralt well, and only assumed much of the captain’s character based on the professor. Perhaps Jeralt was stern and stubborn just as she is. Perhaps he was kind.

“I did tend to drag you to the training grounds quite often.”

“You were troublesome, yes.”

“I was your favorite.”

She scoffs. “Annette was.”

“Now my beloved, you know dishonesty would do our marriage no good,” he says in jest, making her grin in return.

She raises their linked hands to examine the ring on his finger. “It was here where he told me to give this to someone I love. I did not understand what love was back then.”

“And now?”

“I still do not understand it,” she admits, pressing their entwined fingers to her cheek. She sees the furrow between his brows and elaborates: “I may not know how to describe it and I may not understand how one comes to love another but I am sure that I love you.”

“I… I am grateful,” he manages to say.

Dimitri understands love. Has spent most of his life devoted to the past because of it. Yet he does not know why of all the people she could have chosen, she chose him. All he knows is that he loves her too. He is happy that she loves him too.

“It was here where you stayed with me after his death.” There is a faraway look on Byleth’s face as she regards the weathered stone before her. Despite the condition of the slab, Jeralt and Sitri’s names remain clearly etched on its surface. “Do you remember?"

“I do,” Dimitri replies.

They had sat cross-legged on the grass just as they are sitting now, but the plot of earth had been freshly dug and filled back then and the weather had been the opposite of the bright summer blue they are experiencing now. Her eyes had been bloodshot from tears and fury and lack of sleep.

“I remember getting mud caked all over our clothes. The laundress gave me an earful.”

“Military uniforms are never meant to be immaculate,” she muses, toying with a blade of grass that got stuck on the regal fur of his cape.

They had seen many sunsets together. And they had been reckless after the captain’s death, sneaking out and eavesdropping on conspirators far bigger and more powerful than they could have dreamed of, surviving each day in hope of revenge. In contrast, their days as of late have been filled with routine and responsibilities, of peace and promise. Dimitri is grateful.

A wave of nostalgia washes over him. “We have been together a long time.”

“With you, far longer would never be enough,” she quips.

“Quite the poet now, are we?”

“Seteth is rubbing off on me. _You’re_ rubbing off on me,” she reasons in defense, laughing at his offended expression.

“Do you think the captain would have been happy for us?”

“He was obstinate and rough but he was a good man,” Byleth says. “I’m sure he would have been happy. Even so, what he could’ve thought and felt should not matter much as long as we’re both happy, right?”

Dimitri considers her words, thinks about his father, his stepmother, Glenn, and Edelgard’s voices in his head. Sometimes, they still lash out and mock him, other times they judge him with silent unseeing eyes. Would they have been happy? 

“We are happy,” he replies. Because he is. Because his life and happiness are no one else’s but his own.

They stay in the graveyard for a moment longer, her head resting against his shoulder, their arms linked and their palms kissing and inseparable.

Some time after their legs have grown stiff and the monastery bell has chimed one, two, sixteen times, Byleth stretches and wiggles her limbs before pulling herself up from the ground.

"Seteth and Gilbert must be restless by now."

She offers him a hand, which he takes and uses as leverage to tug her in an embrace.

"It is our wedding day," he explains cheekily when she squeaks and levels him with a reprimanding glare. “We have all the time in the world.”

Once upon a time, they stood at this very place and found solace in their mutual need for vengeance. Today, they stand side by side as king and archbishop, husband and wife. He is grateful.

She flicks a damp leaf off his cape. "What a troublesome husband."

"Your favorite nonetheless," he adds with a smug grin.

"That's because you're my only husband."

"I know," he says, leaning closer to brush off the dirt that clung to her dress. "However, I hope you'd forgive my impertinence, Your Grace, because I very much like it when you call me that."

"'My husband?'"

"Yes."

"Your manners are atrocious, Your Majesty. It's quite fortunate you got married to a former mercenary."

"Yes," he nods sagely. "Quite fortunate indeed."

She laughs and holds him tight. 

  
Seteth insisted that they put the matter off at least until tomorrow. You're both tired and weary of the day’s events and festivities, he had said. But Dimitri saw how the bright-eyed squire struggled under the weight of the parchments in his arms and offered to carry the documents to the archbishop's room himself. 

The young man apologized profusely for his blunder, which the newlyweds quickly brushed off. Sylvain, a little too drunk and a little too rowdy, made a suggestive comment about desk work and wedding nights, which earned him a disgusted look from Felix and a stern scolding from Ingrid. Dimitri and Byleth laughed and blushed, perhaps also a little too drunk and maybe a little too elated with their union still to feel embarrassed by their friend's scandalous remarks.

At last it is time to retire.

Byleth opens the heavy doors to the archbishop's quarters and Dimitri saunters in with the staggeringly tall stack of paperwork in his arms, depositing everything on the nearest table, which is already littered with empty ink bottles and unfinished letters. Even after her official appointment as head of the church, Byleth insists on bringing most of her work in her chambers. A force of habit, perhaps. The professor is a creature of habit.

"You requested these documents to be delivered today, Your Grace?"

"Yes," she responds, embracing him from behind. "Officials from all church branches were in attendance today. I thought it would be practical and efficient. Don't you agree, Your Majesty?"

"Indeed," he says as she starts to awkwardly sway their bodies to an imaginary melody. Dimitri covers her hands (small and fragile, but also kind and warm) with his, while ensuring that the new documents are categorically divided and placed on the right stack. He makes a mental note to provide her with a larger table as soon as possible.

"It is long overdue. We plan to invite members of other denominations to join the council as well," she says simply, tightening her embrace. They sway side to side, hand in hand. In the quiet of the night, away from spectators and friends, they are just husband and wife. Dimitri runs his thumb on the ring on her finger.

"The western church seems keen on increasing their representatives in the central governing council,” he comments as he scans the content of one of the correspondences.

“Is the western order ready for this development?”

”It is one of the conditions Seteth and I insist on enforcing. We’ll have to ask help from Dedue, Petra and Shamir to identify the right spokespersons.” She presses her cheek against his arm and flutters her long lashes. "Help me pen a message to the king of Almyra?”

“Of course. Hilda mentioned Duke Goneril has already received terms of negotiations from them.”

Dimitri refocuses his attention to the paperwork. His beloved has always been charming in her own peculiar way but it is impossible to say no to her when she intentionally directs that peculiar charm at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Byleth watching him as he painstakingly makes sure all the parchments' edges are aligned perfectly.

She asks, "Is this why Lord Caius seemed intent to have a word with you earlier?"

"I promised to pay him a visit the next time I set foot in Leicester territory."

"That's good."

"It is." 

A sigh.

"Dimitri?"

"Yes, my beloved?"

"Is this how we're going to initiate all our lovemaking from now on?”

Dimitri stammers and drops the report in his hand. They are no strangers to each other's bodies, have meticulously mapped and memorized one another's birthmarks and scars, pleas and whimpers, likes and dislikes many times over. Yet, tonight there is an indescribable thrum in his veins, an anticipation in his body. Maybe it's the euphoria of exchanging lifelong vows with her in front of everyone. Maybe it's her. Dimitri decides it's her. It is always her.

He clears his throat and places the final paper on top of the stack. "We can try Sylvain’s suggestion."

Byleth playfully slaps his hands away. "And ruin the hard work of everyone who put all those documents in order?"

"I can help you arrange it afterwards," he offers in sincerity. Sometimes he likes to be troublesome. Sincerely troublesome. Sometimes.

She is silent for a moment. But sincerity must have won her over because she steps in front of him, raises her arms, and demands, "Help me out of this dress first."

"Oh? But I wanted to make love to you while you're in your wedding dress."

"Dimitri!"

He laughs and makes love to her in her wedding dress. They begin with a kiss like they always do. The professor is a creature of habit, and, Dimitri supposes, he is too. She likes to stand on her tiptoes to press her mouth against his and he likes to tangle his fingers in her hair. She likes the way he runs his tongue down the curve of her neck then up to the hollow of her ear. He peppers kisses on her hands, her palms, and her wrists and enjoys the way her breath catches as she asks for more. They pull themselves close to each other, closer and closer still, until they both lose patience and Byleth props herself up on the worktable, unmindful of the parchments scattering on the floor.

"Here?" he asks, breathless, as if her intent was not obvious.

"Here," she replies, rolling the hem of her gown upwards to prove the point.

He draws her closer to the edge of the desk and complies.

When the night is spent and the stars hang low and they have made love in different states of undress, Byleth drapes an arm over his body and props her chin on his chest. Dimitri combs the hair away from her face so he can see her. After a while she confesses, "I feel strange."

"Are you unwell? It has been a long day."

"No, I'm fine," she assures him. "It's just. it's strange how we've done all these things before. Yet I feel like my chest is going to… to burst with happiness."

He tilts his head in question and she explains: "We dined and we talked and we worked and we kissed and we went to bed like we had done so many times before but somehow, despite the familiarity of it all, everything feels different. New."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," she replies. "It's just inexplicable, undefinable. This happiness I am feeling right now."

The candles in the room have long been extinguished but in spite of the darkness, Dimitri can hear the wonder in her voice, can feel the grin on her lips. Something in his heart tugs at her admission. It is hard to believe she is the same emotionless mercenary who came to the monastery all those years ago.

Aloud, he says, "We did just get married."

"Yes, well." She hides her face in his chest, embarrassed. "Of course, we did. I just did not expect everything else to be routinary. And mundane. And I did not expect myself to be so excited and overjoyed with the prospect of routine and mundane."

Dimitri turns her words in his head and finds that he likes it: the routine and the mundane, the promise of waking up and watching the sun rise with her, the constancy of retiring for the night with her warmth (soft and comforting and hers) to keep him company, the truth and assurance that she feels the same. 

"I look forward to it. Doing mundane and ordinary things with you. I'd like to do it for the rest of my life." 

Byleth raises her head and plants a chaste kiss on his lips. "Me too, my love. Me too.”

"Do you still feel strange, my beloved?"

"A good kind of strange, yes."

"Do you want to sleep now?" Dimitri asks, his hands settling innocently on her hips.

"Not really, no."

"Good." He laughs, and then shifts and rains kisses on her mouth once again.

Byleth is radiant when she smiles. "Good."

  
Some time in the morning, Dimitri wakes to discover he has slept past the eleventh bell. And though he knows his advisors will scold him for missing a scheduled meeting with the church's central governing council, he cannot really bring himself to worry. Especially not when the head of the council is still with him, naked and busy picking up the pieces of paper they had recklessly flung across the room the night prior. 

He rises to collect and study each document with her, enjoying the brightness of her smile and the sight of sunlight catching on the strands of her hair.

This is who they are now: archbishop and king but also husband and wife. Dimitri is grateful.


End file.
